Of Curious Circumstances
by paracuties
Summary: I hate my life. It's full of my disgusting personality, which spills and seeps out of my skin no matter how tightly I try to hold it in. Main character OC, AU


**The beginning is really kind of sucky. At least, in my opinion. I don't usually like stories with OCs as the main characters, but I decided to give it a try here and I hope you guys will like it.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto. **

…

I hate my life. It's full of my disgusting personality, which spills and seeps out of my skin no matter how tightly I try to hold it in.

I want to change. But I'm built this way, and I can't change that—I'm built just to resist change in the first place. How annoying.

My mind flits to thoughts of a long-ago sibling—one that abandoned me long ago. I shake that off, too. I have shaken off the bonds to my mother, to my clans, to my past, and I live alone. Travel alone. Become a shinobi alone. Because that is the only thing I can do—become a shinobi, that is. I draw, but what good comes of that? It only reminds me of the past again, anyway. And although I clutch that past to me as tightly as I reject it, what I want is to remove those memories. Remove my past, remove my personality...remove ME.

Ah, never mind. This isn't getting me anywhere. It's high-time I get to the borders, anyway. I've loved the ocean ever since I was born. Because—I was born on the borders, in a large city with plenty of trading and merchant carts to run you over and, of course, the ocean. I've come to resent the fact that my parents moved to Konohagakure, back to where their clans were settled and decided to raise their children there. Me and my younger sister. We stayed there until one of my dad's clans was slaughtered by one single powerful shinobi, which was when they decided to leave. When I was left to die. (A small, niggling suspicion pops into my mind, of something long repressed—I don't think I want to know.) Where I decided to leave as well, in the end.

I'm 10 years old, and I'm Uchiha Shiroko, a lone traveler gathering information and knowledge quickly and silently.

"Move it, kid," a drunk man mutters, almost tripping entirely over me, rancor breath washing over my face. I wrinkle my nose, and blow out of my nostrils and mouth in an attempt to get rid of that disgusting smell. Darting out of the way, I'm careful to avoid touching any part of him, whether it's skin, clothing or hair.

So I'm small. So I'm meek. So I'm haphophobic, which means I'm afraid of touching anybody, if you're too stupid to understand. So what?! That doesn't mean I'm pathetic. ...Or maybe it does. 'Cause I certainly don't feel strong and noble, or kind and gracious, or any sort of quality our society considers a good, positive quality.

I don't even know what I'm doing here. Why I'm here on this planet, living this completely pointless life. I don't talk to anybody, all I do is steal food and clothes and knowledge here and there, and...what is the meaning of that? To survive? Just to create another being to cause trouble for whichever community I stay in? Except there's the troublesome thing called instincts, which I obey without question. And instincts tell me to survive. ...Maybe one day I could go back to Konohagakure. Reconnect with family, and all that. Maybe attempt to pass the genin exam, if it's even possible for someone like me, who has no talent, no training, and no good background. Wishful thinking, of course.

"Shut up," I mutter angrily to myself, but noise surrounds my entire, well, surroundings, so nobody can hear the crazy little girl talk to herself. I have a bad habit of doing that, unfortunately. I talk too little, yet talk too much in my head. I am probably going crazy. Certainly feel like it, at times, when I find myself having strange dreams _(nightmares) _that only repeat themselves.

Passing by a distracted shop vendor, my hand slides upward and slips a dango off his tray, one that he probably won't notice. I stuff it into my sleeve, then continuously take little bites at it as I'm walking through the city. I'll be sleeping in a tree, if there is one available in this dirty, trashed city. _My backpack needs to be replaced too; _I think this as I'm digging around in there for anymore snacks I may have stuffed in there. My two kunai and three shuriken are stuffed in there as well, so I'm careful not to cut my hand on anything. It doesn't have many compartments, unfortunately, which is why I often bring around a cloth napkin to wipe off my meager weapons whenever I attempt to train with them.

I've reached a park. It's pretty small, but contains a cluster of trees that I will be able to hide in. I scratch my hands, elbows, and knees on the rough bark, but I hardly notice that now, and settle into a crook of the branch, my thick black hair malnourished from the lack of the nutrition tangling on the bark even though I have cut it short, again and again. It's cold, so I wrap a thin, dirty blanket around myself and tie my body to the tree, an ability learned from my father. I won't fall off that way, that's for sure, although I certainly hate to be reminded of him nonetheless.

I take a long, long time to fall asleep.

...

"Eeeeiiii—!" the sound is cut off in my throat from a large hand clamping over my mouth, rough skin rubbing my chin, indicating he or she is a shinobi—besides the fact that, you know, we are practically flying over the treetops. The shinobi seems mostly like a female though, judging by the slim waist and neck, where my legs are wrapped around and my arms are slung over and gripped by one hand, the other reaching back at an impossible angle to keep my mouth shut. I was woken in a daze, my head pounding from the bouncing, and the blurred scenery only adding to my confusion. Just now I tried to scream. For help, possibly? I can't even tell which shinobi village my captor comes from.

The hand is slowly moving away from my mouth, turning back to my captive wrists and gripping them all the more tightly.

"Wh-who are you?" I whisper, and I doubt that they've heard me—but then I realize that all shinobi have immensely overpowered senses, and I don't try to repeat myself in a louder voice.

"I'm a Konoha shinobi," the clear voice is almost torn away by the wind, but at least I can tell my captor's a woman. "I am bringing you back to Konohagakure right now; it is a mission the Sandaime assigned me and—stop struggling!"

I writhe, frantically pulling my skinny arms and legs away from her harsh hold on my limbs. Her hands slip—I freeze, and she warns, "You will fall to your death if you do that again."

I stop. After a moment, I murmur meekly yet angrily, "Why?!"

"Hokage's orders. You cannot defy them, and we will shortly arrive at his office for you to speak with him alone. He will be explaining the reasons behind his decision."

The rest of the ride on her back is filled with stomach-lurching jolts and seething anger.

...

I'm sitting in a comfy, though worn, chair, seated directly across a desk topped with stacks of files and documents from the Hokage. The Sandaime, who had indirectly granted me freedom but then taken all that away again in just one scribble of a signature, stares at me "kindly". He seems to be waiting for me to speak.

"Sandaime-sama...why did you decide to force me back to Konohagakure, after all?"

Although fury bubbles up inside me, it is held back only with this ridiculous shyness, or maybe courteousness, I can't seem to shed. It is a part of my personality, probably from my mother, and that angry, vengeful side can probably be traced to my father. That one especially lazy section of me also seems to come from that horribly lazy man. It definitely hasn't shown up in the past few years, considering I have been traveling and depending only on myself, but at any given chance, if I am given the chance to depend on someone, it will certainly appear and take over my decisions. If you can't tell already, I blame everything that goes wrong on genetics.

"Ah, Shiroko-san, you know I let you go on purpose?"

I frown. "Of course I do."

"Hmm. I do need you back, though, because I am certain you can have a more stable, happier home with family around rather than wandering around like you have been for the past two years. You're 10 years old; you told me you had a dream to someday become a shinobi, and graduating age is 12 years old. I certainly wouldn't want you to fall behind."

"I know it's more than that."

My calm demeanor betrays nothing, because I am more shocked than anything right now, but soon I know I will be spitting fire and punching walls to release my anger at being forced to do what I don't want to do. Maybe not literally for the "spitting fire" part, although if my father had been willing, that could have been a real possibility.

"Shiroko, you know of your currently-alive relative's unstable condition?"

Did he mean Uchiha Sasuke? Probably. And _of course._ _Of course_ I knew that. He tormented me, and I, hateful to admit it, was afraid of him. Especially afraid after a repressed incident, one which I am still unwilling to uncover, having long been buried in my mind.

This reminds me, then, that I was afraid of my father as well. Sasuke thought I should've died with the rest of his clan. His brother spared him on purpose, yet all I had done to escape his brother's wrath was play at the park with my younger sister.

I merely nod. He nods in affirmation, and continues, "His condition is only deteriorating. As one of his few living relatives, I would hope you have an obligation to him. I have arranged for you to live in the Uchiha district with Sasuke-kun—unless, of course, you wish to live with the Hyuuga clan and, dare I say it, possibly be branded a Branch member? What we need is for him to interact more, socialize more. Even if you are not confident about this, you are family to him, and through constant contact, you'll be able to get through to Sasuke. I believe in you, Shiroko."

He gives me a gentle smile, meant to motivate and encourage me to help Uchiha Sasuke, but I have practice against that sort of manipulation. I have gained experience through my unwanted independence.

It scares me still, even after these couple of years, but I shake my head and firmly tell him, "No."

He raises an eyebrow, but still continues to persevere with a gentle expression, and I know I must say more to reveal his true nature. "I'm not one of your shinobi; I'm not even a citizen of Konohagakure. I'm technically a citizen of Towada. You can't make me do anything; I could even sue you for bringing me someplace against my will!"

"Ah, but if I have legal family acceptance, then it's not illegal to do such a thing."

"...Who?"

"Uchiha Sasuke, of course."

I sit stunned. Why would that boy accept me into his home now? Now, after these years? It's ridiculous. I don't know what I should feel about him. He was a cheerful kid way back then before the Uchiha Massacre, but I was too shy to approach really anybody, and all I had as a friend was my sister. (Apparently she hadn't thought the same...but then, was it her fault...?) I didn't know him too well, and after our clan had been slaughtered, he taken in by my mother, Sasuke threatened to kill me at times. And then he burst into tears after that. I did too. I didn't know what to make of any of it, and finally, after a year of that, my mother was fed up with everything and left, leaving Sasuke and I behind. Her job as the owner of a clothing store helped the move, seeing as how business could be set up just about anywhere. She and my sister presumably live together somewhere else now.

"I don't understand. Why would he..."

"Why would he suddenly ask you to come back to Konoha? I brought the topic up with him, and I suppose he may have felt guilty in some way or another. I told him where you were, and he couldn't necessarily deny you a home."

I look up at him angrily, from where I have twisted my fingers into knots in my lap. "So it _was_ still what you did."

He sighs. "Shiroko, all I want to do is help you. You've been struggling, I know," here he takes a cursory glance at my stick-thin figure and dirty clothing, "And you can't keep struggling like this for all your life. There are people here to help you, and you have to rely on them to have a happier life than wandering aimlessly forever."

This frustrates me. I get frustrated easily. When I become frustrated, I cry. Even though I know I have to stop it, I _can't _as the salty liquid leaks out and dribbles out onto the surface of my eyes anyway, blurring my vision and only inciting more rage and frustration inside of me. My mouth turns downward of its own accord, and it finally spills over, leaving embarrassment and all-the-more frustration slipping down my face. I know the ANBU are watching me sympathetically right now. At least, some of them are. And I know the Hokage is too. I hate that. I hate being looked at like that. I hate being weak. I hate being like this in front of them and showing them this disgusting, pathetic side of me. I'm considering jumping up and running out of the room when the door bangs open and a loud, obnoxious voice yells happily, "Hokage-jiji!"

There's silence as he notices me sitting in the chair and crying pathetically.

"Hey, you okay?" his loud voice is suddenly next to my ear and those wide, blue eyes are right in front of my red, tear-filled ones. I smack him away on impulse, hot embarrassment flooding through me as I propel myself through the recently-opened door.

I'm not sure where I'm going. I've rushed past many shinobi and regular citizens, all taking jobs here in this building or just passing by to take a mission, but I duck around them and hope none of them try to stop me. I've rushed out into the open before I realize just how familiar this place is to me. It smells the same, feels the same, and the sun warms my face. I want to curl up and go to sleep. Instead, I run to the Uchiha district. I am probably supposed to go there, anyway, after Hokage-sama finished talking to me and would escort me personally to this place, calling out Uchiha Sasuke and allowing introductions to be re-made. The Sandaime would be that type of person.

Sasuke seems to be standing just outside of his clan gates, waiting around arrogantly—but I can detect that hint of nervous tension lined in the set of his arms, crossed in front of his chest. He probably won't recognize me. But I run straight toward him anyway.

"Hi," I say uncertainly as I slow to a stop in front of him. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do now. A scary thought occurs to me. What if he bullies me? I was bullied in those beginning Academy years. I'll hide from him, because I know I can't win a fight. And I can really hide.

He nods at me, then gruffly asks, "Where's the Hokage? He was supposed to be escorting you here. Assuming you're Uchiha Shiroko?"

I nod quickly. Pale skin, dark hair, and dark eyes—image of an Uchiha. Yes, that's probably why he recognized me, then, even with twigs decorating my hair like a crown and baggy, dirty clothing hanging off my stick-thin frame. Hyuuga have pale skin, the Naras have dark hair and eyes, so I suppose the Uchiha look dominates with both characteristics. Sasuke walks back through the compound gates without another word, so I follow, silence settling over the two of us. One thing I have to say—I am socially awkward. I did not have much social interaction, my shy personality keeping me from finding friends easily, and afterward, being alone…well, there's really not much chance to improve my skills at holding a conversation.

"Here's where I live," he shows me to a room he most likely lived in as a kid before moving into my family's previous house, "And you can live in that room, I guess."

He points at the one past the next room. The next room was most likely his brother's. The room of that murderer…

I suppress the chill that passes through me and I obediently step into my assigned room. Sasuke has actually put some work into this, I realize, as I take in the folded blanket at the foot of the bed, the un-dusty furniture and the clean sheets and pillows.

"Thank you," I say quietly, knowing he is standing behind me.

"Hn."

He pauses. "The Hokage told me you'll be going to the Academy too. Since today's Sunday, you're going to be coming with me tomorrow, and I'll have to show you to the fifth year's classroom. My classroom is on a higher floor, because I'm in the sixth year."

I nod. He pauses again. "How much do you know?"

I explain that I've kept my basic skills with shuriken and kunai, and I'm fit—I run all the time, climb trees all the time, all just to keep myself alive. He asks me to show him my skills by throwing the shuriken and kunai he has gathered into a target in a private training area. I was never allowed here before. And it feels ridiculous; a boy pretty much my age is acting as if he's my personal instructor.

I still obey his instructions anyway, because I'm a ridiculously submissive creature. And I hate that. Anger broils inside me, but it dissipates in favor of fear of stronger beings. I'm weak, but I have immense, stupid pride, I'm quiet, but I shout furiously in my mind, and most of all, I'm alone, but I wish to be held close to my mother. Tears come up to my eyes again. I focus on throwing the shuriken and kunai Sasuke has piled up in a spot next to my feet, and those tears disappear. As long as I can distract myself, I won't cry.

The shuriken falls short of its target. Sasuke looks at me in disapproval. I bite my lip. So I'm not used to these balanced, higher-quality weapons—as long as nobody watches me, I know I can improve and do better than I am doing right now. But I persevere, and this continues, and I know ANBU are watching right now. My shuriken hits the target, albeit not very close to the center. Sasuke has been gathering the shuriken piling up on the dusty ground every few minutes, and I'm grateful for that. Not many people have done anything for me. I'll take what I can have.

My aim slowly improves, because I'm used to these kinds of weapons now, and I focus on kunai, getting a feel for its balance before tossing the knife towards the target. It hits the target. Sasuke is appearing somewhat less annoyed.

…

I'm waking up and stumbling down the stairs in the same clothes I wore yesterday—and I smell food. I notice Sasuke primly eating a plate of tomatoes, and I remember the smaller version of him doing this same exact action years ago—he loves his tomatoes; that's for sure.

Sasuke nods at me. I timidly smile back. Breakfast is quiet, as can be expected, but I'm mentioning something to him before I even think.

"Yesterday, ANBU were watching us."

His eyes widen in a rare display of surprise. "You can sense them?"

I shrug. "I just know when people are watching me; that's all."

He seems to file this information away for further investigation, because he suddenly changes topic. "The Hokage dropped off these clothes."

He hands me a box after bending down and retrieving something next to his seat at the dining table. I struggle to get a good grip of it before carrying it upstairs. Inside, there are clothes that fit me just right, if maybe just a little loose so that once I gain more muscle and fat on my figure I will fit them fine. They all have the Uchiha clan symbols on the back, even though I'm technically not full Uchiha—but the Nara clan has already long separated any connection from my misfit family, disgusted with the fact that a lower male member of theirs had had a child with an _Uchiha _woman. That Uchiha woman was my father's mother, my grandma. Although she was terribly doting on my younger sister, I loved her anyway. I didn't like her around, jealous that she always paid more attention to my sister than me, but when she was slaughtered with the rest of the clan, I missed her. My younger sister didn't remember her much. I didn't miss my father, brutally killed in the Uchiha massacre when he, my sister and I were visiting his mother's side of the family, and I still don't.

I shake my head and get dressed, giving myself an once-over in the full-length mirror. Hollow dark eyes stare back at me. Chapped, down-turned lips are pulled even further into a frown as I notice all the flaws on me: a sickly-thin figure, choppy, messy-even-though-I-washed-and-brushed-it-a-million-times hair, and vibrant Uchiha clothing looking out of place on someone like me. Great.

I'm starting the Academy—once again. It won't do me any good to mull over either depressing memories or my appearance.

**...**

**I didn't know how to end it; I've written a bunch of it in one big document and I'm not sure where to put breaks. Any ideas on improvement? **

**No flames please! **

**~paracuties**


End file.
